I have been told that I emerged inauspiciously, one night I was ‘sleeping’, one morning awake, but not aware. There was no cliched awakening, I did not, apparently, sit bolt upright to open my eyes. But my coma had been blissful and rejuvenating. My body was young again, and like a child my limbs were unresponsive, my mouth weak and my brain lazy.

But when I saw whitewashed walls and smelt freshly scrubbed floors I was filled with more than horror; a total ignorance of my being and of my being there. The luminescent red figures on the alarm clock changed but my thoughts remained in the past. But what past had I, from my own mind I could tell you that 2:46 was the hour of my creation. What day or year I had no idea.

It was, or at least seemed hours before I realized that the gentle motion of shadow over my clothed form was caused not by some trick of light, but by the slight, almost imperceptible breeze that I felt on my freshly shaven cheek. The curtained window on the left side of the room, beyond a suitcase that I later found to be mine, was ajar. My mistake was to allow the urge to breathe fresh, desanitised air to overcome me. As I drew back the sheets and tried to swing my legs to the floor there came the awful conclusion.

I broke down and cried the most uncomfortable of tears, glass shavings to my dry eyes, and remained motionless till the morning rounds. Without help or hope I quietly sobbed into the harsh cotton pillow. Everything had a certain cut, to my softened frame the softest silk of the exquisite mauve bedclothes was as wool; heavy, rough and unwelcome.

‘Welcome Francis’.
A voice spoke, from the door a middle aged, assuring nurse came forward
‘Welcome?’
‘Well perhaps good morning would suit better?’
‘Good morning?’ Slowly it had dawned upon me that this was evidently the first I had spoken since my admittance, but drought within my throat prevented conversation of even the most limited form.
The nurse was experienced in such matters and within seconds had begun to pour the most divine, delectable and most importantly cold liquid into my mouth. Oh but the weakness of my form. I couldn’t even hold my own blasted glass of water let alone amble to the window. The window that was now framing a mild storm with its sashed elegance.

When I woke again the clock told me it was 13:51. But what exertion had caused yet more hours to be lost? None but disgusted introspection and severe mental anguish. Still I had not moved anything but my eyes and neck. I so wanted more water, to envelop my throat as an Atlantic wave fills a small craft. But my fingers immediately jarred as the slow electrical signals crossed from the synapses in my neural sphere to the disabled muscles and joints, and in the process faltered. Once more I gave up, in ubiquitous pain, and resisted sleep no more.